


Jerktale 4: The Spacesquid-en-ing

by O Hakubi (Koah)



Series: The Saga of the Circle of Jerks [4]
Category: City of Heroes
Genre: Aliens, Comedy, Don't Have to Know Canon, Gen, Off-Brand Nazis, Original Character(s), Soneone Else's Character(s), Spot The Reference To Something Else I Did Way Back When, Superheroes, hoboes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-24
Updated: 2008-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koah/pseuds/O%20Hakubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their defense, just because you're a member of an ancient race of alien energy beings who can bond with a human host to grant them incredible powers doesn't mean you won't be in need of saving at some point, so you better hope your friends bonded with some responsible people.  Unfortunately, being a member of an ancient &c &c doesn't mean you have perfect judgement either, so you could end up in the company of a bunch of irresponsible man-children who are now tasked with rescuing your friends.  Hence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerktale 4: The Spacesquid-en-ing

It was a cold night in Paragon City. The sky was shrouded in clouds, blotting out what little light the waning moon would normally shed and casting the streets into darkness. Save for the occasional passing car, the evening was still and silent. It was, in cutting-oriented hero Bob Bobbins' opinion, the perfect night to test his skills.

The building was, on the outside, perfectly ordinary: A plain ten-story brick apartment building standing in the middle of King's Row, nearly indistinguishable from the dozens of other apartments across the borough. However, very few people would notice that the windows on the upper floors were heavily tinted, and fewer still would realize that nobody actually entered or left the building. Fortunately for Bob - or unfortunately, depending on your point of view - these facts did not go unnoticed by one Maxwell Christopher. By Maxwell's line of thinking, such a suspicious building could only be a secret base for Nemesis' troops. Though Bob often had problems with his reasoning - indeed, he harbored suspicions that the man was a sadistic bastard - his past few hunches had proved to be correct, and so Bob was willing to give him another chance.

Scaling the side of the apartment was child's play. Opening the vent on the roof was slightly more challenging, though not by much; the flimsy metal grate was no match for his honed skills and trusty blade. Nudging the remnants of the barrier to the side, he slid down into the ventilation system and made his way further into the building. However, as he slid through the vents Bob came to the realization that this was not, in fact, a Nemesis base. The first and most obvious clue came from the fact that the aforementioned vent was constructed of aluminum and not brass. The second clue came from the complete and utter lack of anything even remotely connected to Nemesis, up to and including his soldiers. Grumbling, he pulled his cellular phone out of his pocket and tapped a few buttons.

"Christopher, FBSA," the voice on the other end of the line said.

"Max, it's Bob Bobbins."

"Oh, Bob. How goes the infiltration into the Nemesis stronghold?"

"Yeah, about that... this isn't a Nemesis stronghold."

"What makes you so sure?" Maxwell asked.

Bob peered down through the grate into the room below. "Well, there's no Nemesis troops and everything looks like it was made after 1860."

"It's obviously a trick. Are you in one of the rooms now?"

"No."

"Then go into one and tell me what you find."

Bob pushed the grate aside with his free hand and pulled himself towards the opening before dropping down into the room, somersaulting in midair and landing in a crouch. "All I see is a computer terminal and a large, round tank of some sort about the size of a Yugo." He stood up, squinting at some of the writing on the side. "Wait, there's something else here... a label." He silently approached it, leaning in for a better look.

"What does it say?"

"'Property of United States Government.'"

After a long pause Maxwell said, "that's the kind of evil we're fighting against, Bob. Someone who-"

He rolled his eyes. "You're full of shit, you know that?"

"-someone who doesn't think twice about committing heinous crimes in the name of this great country of ours, and-"

"No, you are _completely_ full of shit," Bob snapped, turning away from the tank. "Don't even try to turn this into a patriotic thing. I'm out here cutting people so children can sleep at night and all you do is send me to be horribly mutilated by cyborg bears."

"Those bears were tools of Neme-"

"Those bears were part of the Freakshow circus! You're lucky that their organs sell so well on the Asian markets or I wouldn't have even bothered."

"Nemesis was-"

"I. Don't. Care. As far as I'm concerned, you just lost the last shred of credibility with me. Find someone else to boss around." With that, he snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket, massaging his temples. "What a lunatic..."

Bob looked up towards the open vent on the ceiling, but before he could make a move towards it his attention was inexorably drawn to the tank behind him, which began emanating a low churning sound. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his katana as he slowly turned to face it, the churning noise steadily increasing in volume. He took a slow, deliberate step back, preparing himself for the worst. Unfortunately for him, his definition of "worst" did not include the top of the tank bursting open in a mass of flailing luminous tentacles.

"Eep."

* * *

"I didn't even _know_ the government had top-secret tentacle demon storage facilities."

Attorney of LAW adjusted her glasses. "I see. What happened after that?"

Bob Bobbins, now dressed in a bright red three-piece suit and fedora, averted his eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"...I see. I'm still going to record this as unpaid sick leave, however."

"Damn it."

* * *

Paragon University was envisioned as the be-all and end-all of higher education. Dozens of investors, both public and private, were called upon by the Paragon City Council to pool their resources for the construction of what was to the most advanced institute of higher learning in all of New England, if not the nation; an institute where the finest young minds of their generation would be instructed in the sciences by the finest academia that could be found, using the most advanced technology money could buy to bring out the utmost of their potential.

What the investors overlooked was the fact that the campus was located in a city full of superpowered eighteen to twenty-five-year-olds, all of whom were on the honor system when fighting crime and asked on a near-daily basis to confiscate illegal narcotics from criminals.

* * *

To the chants of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" from his peers, one of the members of Paragon's many fraternities polished off the last of his beer, marking the fifth strikeout he had completed that evening. Tossing the cup aside, he staggered over and collapsed onto a nearby couch near two of his frat mates. It went without saying that the participants of the party were more than a little impaired, even more so than one would expect for people who voluntarily lived in a city with a history of outlandishly high crime rates.

One of the frat boys slapped him on the back. "You still got it, Jack."

Jack nodded. "Totally," he slurred. After a few seconds of thought he proclaimed, "I need some more beer. 'scuse me." Pushing himself up off the couch, he wandered through the throngs of chatting college students into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

Most of the liquor had been taken by the party's other patrons, leaving only leftovers, half a container of orange juice and a small plastic container filled with a viscous, deep purple substance that seemed to move on its own accord. Pulling it out, he held it up and looked at it suspiciously before turning to a nearby student. "Wuzzis?"

The student shrugged. "Fuck if I know, man. I saw the bottle on some Council guy's desk and swiped it. I think it's like space booze or something."

Jack peered into the container, trying to focus on the writhing purple mass inside of it. "'zat a worm or sumth'n'?"

He shrugged. "Might be space tequilheeeeeey," he said, his attention refocusing on the rear end of the girl walking past him, "nice pants."

"It's fur," she replied.

"'s cool, 's cool," he nodded, "I'm not much for all those PETA folks eithHEY, where you going?!" Setting his drink down, he quickly followed her out of the room.

Returning his attention to the flask, he studied it for a minute before shrugging, unscrewing the hermetic seal and putting it to his lips, not really drinking it so much as having it slide down his throat of its own volition. It was kind of cold and bland, but the aftertaste reminded him of the gaping abyss of space for some odd-

**The die has been cast. We are now one.**

Jack was suddenly aware of the room distorting and turning an odd shade of violet, only having time to mutter "this sucks" before losing consciousness.

* * *

Several hours later Jack woke with a start, groggy yet not as hung over as he thought he would be. He was still dressed and not covered in shaving cream - facts he was grateful for - but somehow he had ended up slumped in an office chair in a very ordinary-looking cubicle. Standing up, he peered over the top of the cubicle walls to find himself in a temple constructed of red-brown stone blocks and lit with flaming braziers.

A woman behind him coughed and he whirled around, coming face to face with a horned, red-skinned woman in aviator sunglasses and a three-piece suit. "Oh no," he said, "I'm in Hell."

"Not quite," she replied. "You're in the Jerk Hole."

Jack blinked. "The what now?"

"The base of operations for the Circle of Jerks. You appeared here via dark matter wormhole, threw up on the CEO's favorite couch and passed out in the gift shop." She glanced over her shoulder down the hallway. "One of our employees placed you here to ensure you were out of the way."

"Oh. Sorry." He stepped to the side in an attempt to walk past her. "Listen, I got a class to skip, so-"

Arch slid over, blocking his way. "It was a very expensive couch."

"How expensive?"

"The CEO is in charge of the entire planet and even he considered it to be pricey."

"Oh." Jack pondered this for a few seconds. "Am I fucked?"

"Exceedingly so, yes."

"Oh."

"Fortunately, there is a way out of it." Leaning over, she pulled a short, plastic-wrapped cape out of a nearby file cabinet and handed it to Jack. "Work for us and we'll see to it that the situation is resolved with all due haste."

"Oh no dude, this is a scam, isn't it?" He looked around. "You sucker people into working for you by doing this shit, right? I bet I only puked on his carpet or something. Plus I don't have any powers or shit, so-"

**Yes you do,** a voice from the back of his mind echoed. 

"Oh wait, yeah I do. But still."

"It's no scam. I'm offering you a way to pay off your debt to the company as well as earn additional income beyond that. Furthermore, I know for a fact that the college gives additional credits to students who perform vigilante work." Arch gave him a knowing look. "...and from what you've said you seem to be in need of it."

Jack eyed her suspiciously. "I don't have to wear tights, do I? Because that's just gay."

"There's no dress code at all. Simply go out three, perhaps four times a week and accost random criminals on the street or in office buildings and I'm sure you'll be able to pay off the cleaning bills in no time."

* * *

Watching all this take place via security camera was the CEO of Earth and Dr. Science.

"He hasn't heard of the phrase 'deal with the devil,' has he?" CEO asked.

Dr. Science shook his head. "It doesn't look like it."

"Serves him right for throwing up on my couch, then."

* * *

The man slowly opened his eyes before sitting up on the metal table he was laid out upon, a thick layer of dust falling off the dented, rusty armor encasing him. The world was a hazy grey blur, and it was a few seconds before his vision came into focus, letting him take a look at his surroundings. He was in some sort of lab, long since fallen into disarray: The machinery along the walls in various states of ruin, glass vials and beakers cracked and coated with grime, the insides encrusted with thin films of unlabeled chemicals, crumbling scraps of papers scattered across the floor... it didn't look ransacked, merely abandoned, but by who and why?

How long had he lain here? Years? Decades? Standing up, he approached a cracked mirror hanging from the wall for a closer look at himself: His skin was not merely pale but ashen grey, with his hair long since gone. Circular mirrored lenses were implanted over his eyes, and his armor was covered with banded strips of metal and vents, somehow managing to appear high-tech and old at once. Reaching behind him, he tugged at the greying cape attached to his back. It seemed to fit the ensemble, but he didn't know why he was wearing one; it wasn't as if he were some sort of superhero or-

...superhero? Why did that sound so familiar?

As he turned away he spotted a metal door on the opposite wall, a thin shaft of light streaming through the small inset window. Crossing the room, he went to push it open, only to find that it held fast. As he leaned into the door to force it open, his gauntlets began glowing with a pale white light, something unexpected and yet strangely familiar to him. He was taken aback slightly by this, but resumed his efforts and gave the door a shove, knocking it off its hinges and sending it tumbling into the stairway behind it, the din echoing off the concrete walls.

The man entered the stairwell, pausing only to give one long, last look at the room which held him before beginning the long climb up towards the light.

* * *

"Tell me again why we're in this God-forsaken place."

The "God-forsaken place" in question was Boomtown, one of the city boroughs that was destroyed during the Rikti war and home to various gangs, paramilitary groups and walking scraps of metal, all of which harbored some degree of antipathy for the inhabitants of Paragon City as well as their protectors. Two of the aforementioned protectors (though some would use the term rather loosely) - Male Man and the Powerleveler - were currently walking down one of the region's deserted streets in search of signs of life.

"Well," Male said, "I'm not sure. I think they're just trying to get rid of us."

"I wonder why," PL replied. "It's not like you left a giant zombie just outside the gate between Dark Astoria and Talos, letting him rush out into the city once they opened the doors again." He waited a few seconds until Male opened his mouth, interrupting him before he had a chance to speak. "OH WAIT, YOU DID THAT, DIDN'T YOU?"

"You were the one who closed the door."

"Only so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I didn't even want to be in that fucking place, and what, are you seriously complaining about letting a bunch fukin nubs get their asses kicked instead of us?"

"No, I'm just saying that not everyone likes it when you let zombies loose on the city without the proper ambiance."

PL stopped and turned to face Male. "ambiance?"

"Yeah, ambiance. The main reason that zombie movies take place during the nighttime or when it's foggy out is because the loss of sight makes things inherently scarier; things are coming after you, but you don't know what or how many. It's a primal th-" Male spun around as a pile of rubble shifted behind him. "What was that?"

PL glanced over to where Male was looking. "What was what?"

The rubble heaved upward briefly before crumbling downward, and out of the hole climbed a grey-skinned human in bulky, rusty armor. "Excuse me," he began, "but where-"

"ADAMASTOR!!"

"...I beg your par-"

Any further discussion was brought to a sudden halt as Male Man's fist collided with his jaw.

* * *

The man slowly opened his eyes for the second time in as many hours to see two men crouching over him - one tanned, long-haired and wearing a thong and the another in retro-futuristic armor.

"Hi," the long-haired one said. "Sorry about that. We're pretty jumpy about stuff crawling out of the ground around here."

"'We?'" the other said incredulously.

"Who are you?" he asked, sitting up.

"I'm Male Man," the man known as Male Man said. Gesturing to his friend he added, "this is the Powerleveler. Who are you?"

"I'm not really sure..." He went to cup his chin, only to find that part of his cape had been wrapped around the lower half of his head.

"I punched off your lower jaw," Male admitted sheepishly. "We tried looking for it but couldn't find it. Sorry."

After a few seconds of thought he said, "that's all right, I seem to be doing fine without it."

"Yeah, I noticed," PL said. "How teh fuk r u speaking, anyway?"

"...I'm not certain."

"Well, are you human?" Male asked.

"I might have been at one time."

"So you're an ex-human."

The Ex-Human pondered this. "I suppose that's the best way of putting it for now."

"Yeah, well," PL said testily, "if we're going to play twenty questions, we may as well do it someplace where we're not exposed to sniper fire." He extended his hand to Ex-, pulling him to his feet. "Come on, we'll take you back to the base for the time being."

As they headed for the Steel Canyon exit, Ex- asked, "You said your name was Male Man, correct?"

"That's right," Male replied. "Male Man, AKA Manny Mannerson."

"I see. Male Man, why are you dressed like that?"

"Oh, the thong? Well, you know the basics of meteorology, right? High and low-pressure zones cause rain, snow, tornadoes, et cetera?"

"Oh Jesus," PL muttered. "Not again."

* * *

"As the coordinator of Kheldian duties on Earth," Sunstorm began, regarding the three vigilantes standing before him, "it is my duty to guide you all in the development of your powers and-" He stopped abruptly, staring at the young man in street clothes with a short red cape tied around his neck. "...you're not a Peacebringer."

"Oh yeah, I know dude," Jack said, "but the chick I was talkin' to over in Galaxy told me to talk to you 'cause she was gettin' all pissed because I was puttin' the moves on her. So I'm like, 'psch, whatever, if you didn't want people hittin' on you then you shouldn't wear leather pants.'" He "tch"ed. "Chicks always act like that, you know? They dress all hot and then they're all 'oh no, you need to respect me for my _mind_.' Whatever, man."

The yellow and red spandex-clad Kheldian host silently regarded him for a few seconds before continuing. "As I was saying, it is my duty to guide you in the development of your powers and help you adjust to your new lives as Peacebringers."

Ex- raised his hand. "Excuse me, sir, but I am not quite certain that I am a Peacebringer."

"Have you merged with a Kheldian?"

"Not to my recollection."

"Can you wield and control luminous energy?"

"Yes."

"Then that's close enough. As I was saying, it is my duty to guide you in-"

Bob raised his hand. "I didn't merge with a Kheldian either."

Sunstorm let out a barely audible sigh. "But you can still use..." He trailed off, looking at Bob intently. "...weren't you one of the people who shot that hero with a rocket launcher a few weeks back?"

"What? No." He glanced about, shifty-eyed. "No, that's some other guy. The Taffer, I think."

"I see. So who are you?"

"I'm the, uh..." Okay Bob, he thought, think fast. These names usually have something having to do with light like "glowing" or "shining" or... ooh, that's good! "I'm the Shining..." Okay, good start, good start. Man, why is he putting me on the spot like this? Couldn't I just shank him and run away before THAT'S IT! "...Shank! Yes, I'm the Shining Shank."

Sunstorm stared at the Shining Shank (nee the Taffer, nee Bob Bobbins) for a few more seconds before deciding it wasn't worth the effort. "Now then, for your first mission as Peacebringers..." He looked pointedly at Jack, who was staring up the skirt of a young woman hovering nearby. "...and Warshades, you're to investigate a Council base in the Hollows. There's been reports that a Council Archon has been kidnapping Kheldian hosts, presumably to further their experiments. We don't know what they're up to, but if you could find either the heroes or any of the Archon's notes it would go a long way towards shedding some light on this case."

"If I am understanding this correctly," Ex- began, "you are sending individuals the Council is interested in kidnapping, presumably to further less than noble causes, into a populated Council base to investigate the kidnappings."

"That's right."

"Are there not other groups that could accomplish this task with less personal risk? Ones with a greater knowledge of how the Council works?"

* * *

The Nebel Oberst laughed. "Sie schwache Amerikaner! Sie sind alle zu mir grau."

A second later an expensive-looking arrow embedded itself in the 5th Columnist's chest with a low "thwip."

"Mist auf einem stock," he muttered, falling off the podium.

* * *

Atop a nearby ledge, Manticore lowered his bow and rose up from his crouching position. "This city takes its toll on you. When I first began defending Paragon City as Manticore I couldn't help but wonder if the money I spent on arrows couldn't instead be used for the betterment of mankind, but now..." He shook his head. "...now I don't even think twice about taking down even the lowest of the low with hundred-thousand dollar arrows. It sickens me to know that every day I have to decide between curing cancer and having the the extra glue arrow I need to stop the cancer in this city. It's a gamble with human lives that no man should have to take."

Positron swooped down beside him, giving him a disparaging look. "Manticore."

"Yet I willingly bear this burden," he continued, "for as long as the forces responsible for my parents' deaths remain, I shall-"

"Manticore!"

Manticore jumped. "What?"

"You're monologuing out loud. Again."

He lowered his eyes and looked away. "Positron was a know-it-all, but he was right. Fighting an endless war against crime takes its toll..."

Positron facepalmed. "For crying out loud..."

* * *

"No."

Ex- nodded. "I see."

Sunstorm looked at the other two vigilantes, only one of which was actually paying attention to him and not women in skin-tight outfits running past. "Are there any other questions?"

"Yeah. Do you know Maxwell Christopher?" Shank asked.

"My human half had worked with him in the past, yes, and I still keep contact with him."

"FUCK!" Tendrils of light formed in the palm of his hand, twisting about themselves and extending outward into a thin shaft of light. Leveling the energy blade at Sunstorm's chest he shouted, "he put you up to this, didn't he?! That son of a bitch has had it out for me ever since I got here!"

Stepping in front of Shank, Ex- slowly pushed his arm down. "I do not believe that this is a wise course of action, all things considered."

Shank glanced at Ex- before reluctantly letting the blade dissipate, glaring daggers at Sunstorm all the while. "I'm watching you," he said menacingly, before turning and storming away.

"Is he usually like that?" Sunstorm asked.

"Yes," Jack and Ex- replied in unison.

* * *

The Council soldier leaned up against the side of the building, staring up at the shimmering field of the War Wall. "Man, guard duty is _boring_."

His fellow guard looked over at him. "I'm not sure that's a bad thing, Hank."

Hank sighed in frustration. "Why are we even here? Nobody comes out this far into the Hollows, and if they did they'd be tipped off by us two standing guard in front of an 'abandoned' building."

"Orders are orders."

"You sound like Ramirez when you say that, Jim."

"How is Ramirez, anyway? I haven't heard anything from him."

"Arrested, I think."

"Oh." Jim shrugged. "Well, serves him right."

"Yeah."

The two stood there in silence for several minutes until eventually Jim spoke up. "So I bought one of those high-definition radios recently."

"Really? They any good?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. Turns out that you can actually listen in on Nemesis' army transmissions with it."

Hank let out a short laugh. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I think it's because they still use those, uh..." Jim twirled his finger, drawing a circle in the air in front of him. "...crystal radios and Nemesis hasn't caught on to how the HD stuff works."

"Wow, that's crazy. Have any of the heroes caught on?"

"Not that I've heard. I think they're so used to trying to decrypt the radio frequencies used by those black ops guys and Crey that low-tech stuff flies under the radar."

"Crazy," Hank repeated, shaking his head.

"Tons of other stations too, but they're mostly college and pirate radio. I did find some sort of anti-super propaganda broadcast, though. The guy talks a little fast but I can really-" Jim looked over at Hank, only to do a double-take when he realized that he wasn't there. "Jim? Where'd you go?"

Hank's question was answered when Jim landed on top of him at high velocity, knocking them both out cold on impact. Poking his head out from the roof of the building, Jack noted, "this 'dark matter wormhole' nerd stuff is pretty awesome."

Shank jumped off the ledge, with Ex- and Jack following suit. "It's okay," Shank said relucantly, "I guess." Approaching the door, he turned the knob and pushed it open. "I mean, you could have opened the portal around their bodies and cut them in half, but that works too."

"But aren't we just, like, arresting them and shit?"

Upon hearing this Shank burst out laughing as Jack and Ex- simply stared at him. It was several minutes before he could finally regain his composure, managing to utter "oh, oh God..." before lapsing into a long giggling fit.

"Are you all right?" Ex- asked.

Shank waved him off. "No, I'm... I'm fine..." He exhaled. "Woah. 'Arresting them.' That's a good one." He gestured towards the door, suppressing a grin. "Come on, we have some 'arresting' to do."

As the vigilantes entered the building, they noticed a remarkable lack of Council paraphernalia, soldiers and indeed, anything that might mark the building as anything but a small, derelict office complex. "Is this the right address?" Ex- asked.

Jack shrugged. "I dunno, I was following Shank."

"It better be," Shank said. "They wouldn't post guards outside for no reason. Unless of course the Council knew Sunstorm was on to them and decided to set up a trap to-"

No sooner did he say that than heavy metal shutters slammed down, sealing off the exits as gas began to fill the room.

Shank rolled his eyes. "Fucking figures."

"This hardly seems fair," Ex- stated.

* * *

Ex- slowly opened his eyes and sat up, noting that being knocked unconscious and waking up in another location was becoming a habit with him. Unfortunately, this location happened to a dingy prison cell with large pile of rags in a darkened corner of the room. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized the rags were actually a scruffy, filthy man in equally scruffy, filthy jeans and a sweatshirt with a very scruffy, filthy beard and head of hair. "Oh, I apologize," he said to the man. "I did not realize that you were there."

The vagrant grunted. "Typical gov'm'nt," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "Forgettin' 'bout ev'ryone that ain't them. Shoulda known som'th'n was up when th' city d'cided t'solve th' homeless problem by lettin' th' aliens get 'im."

"I'm not with the government. I'm with the Circle of Jerks."

He looked at Ex-. "Sounds like some crazy supergroup full o' people who hang out in space clubs an' drive flyin' gold cars that shoot money."

"Actually, the group is quite egalitarian."

"Don' start usin' your high-falootin' words on me, son," he shot back. "I fought in the war."

"Which war?"

" _The_ war, son, didn't'cha go t'school?"

"I... have not been keeping up with the news recently." In an effort to change the subject, Ex- asked, "were you kidnapped by the Council?"

"Naw, I came here m'self." He poked his temple. "Gotta space squid in m' head. Keeps tellin' me t' beat up Nazis. Only when I find th' Nazis they're space luchadores. Then one of 'im takes me, tosses me into this cell. Woulda left but I get a place t' sleep 'n hot meals. Heard 'im talkin' 'bout some crazy 'speriments he wanted t'do, though."

"I can't imagine that they would end well for you. Fortunately, my friends and I were dispatched to rescue anyone here as well as put a stop to his plans."

"Got a funny way of doin' it."

Suddenly two blades of light swept downward through the door, cleaving a thick section out of the center. It wobbled slightly before falling forward into the cell with a loud clang, revealing Jack and Shank.

"Dude, these are some weak-ass doors," Jack said.

"I know," Shank replied. "You'd think they'd catch on by now." Then, turning to Ex- he said, "come on, we've got generic fascists to beat up and people to rescue."

Standing up, Ex- gestured to the vagrant. "I believe that we have already rescued someone."

"'Rescued?'" He let out a low grunt. "Not goin' nowhere. Least here I get fed."

Jack snapped his fingers. "Oh dude, I got you covered. He can stay in the frat house. I'll just tell 'em that he's a guest speaker for philosophy or something."

"Oh, come on," Shank exclaimed. "You think people are going to think that some delusional, rambling, drunken hobo is a college professor?"

"...you haven't been to a philosophy lecture, have you dude?"

"Excuse me," Ex- said, "but he _is_ right next to us."

* * *

Down the hall from the prison, a lone Council guard stood watch. Upon sighting an approaching Adjutant and his patrol he snapped to attention and saluted briskly.

The Adjutant returned the salute. "I trust that the prisoners are secured?"

"Yes, sir. There's been no signs of any unauthorized personnel either coming or going."

"Good. Keep an eye out; these heroes show an uncanny ability to infiltrate our base and let our prisoners out without our knowing."

No sooner did he say this than the hallway was filled with a hail of dark matter and Kheldian energy blasts, cutting down the patrol like wheat. Out of the barrage flew Ex-, who delivered a devastating haymaker to the gut of the Adjutant, sending him spinning through the air, head over heels, before landing and tumbling down the rocky hallway.

He turned back towards the others and, noting Jack's expression, said, "I am attempting to keep casualties to a minimum."

"By punching him down the hallway?"

Suddenly the base's alarm began blaring, and in the distance Jack and Ex- could hear the shouting and hurried footsteps of more Council soldiers. As they came into view, Shank flew past the two vigilantes in a red and white blur, dual blades of Kheldian energy in his hands. Before the guards could even raise their rifles Shank brought the blades to bear, neatly decapitating the first soldier (kami tatewari) with one arm and bisecting the second at the waist (ryo kuruma) with the other. Landing and sliding to a stop he spun about, cutting a third in half through the solar plexus (wakige) with a broad horizontal stroke before hurling both beams forward, the blades forming sheets of light that tore through the densely-packed troops, leaving blood and torn bodies in their wake. He disappeared around the corner, gunfire and screaming echoing through the stone hallway.

"Before Shining Shank could reach him, yes."

Jack blinked. "Oh."

* * *

Though winding and downright labyrinthine at times, following Shank's trail through the subterranean Council base - and to the exit, they hoped - was remarkably easy, mostly because Shank's actions left behind a very visible trail of dead and dying soldiers. While there were survivors, very few of them seemed eager to confront Ex-, Jack or the vagrant directly.

As they walked past one of the intersections there was a distant, barely audible "ping." Moments later, a grenade bounced around the corner and along the ground towards them, only to fall into a small, swirling void at Jack's feet before dropping out of another void and into his hand. Winding up, he pitched it back down the hallway, bouncing it off the wall and out of sight. There was panicked yelling before a loud explosion, then silence.

"You seem to be holding your own quite well," Ex- noted.

He flexed his arm. "QB for the Atlas Titans, junior and senior year. Plus I got _skills_ , y'know?"

"Skills?"

"Oh yeah dude, superchicks love it when you show 'em you can hold your own. Shows 'em you're a real alpha male, know what I'm sayin'?"

"I would imagine that being bound to an aeons-old life form from beyond the stars capable of warping the fabric of time-space would factor into it as well."

"Oh yeah, that too."

The vagrant grunted. "Crazy kids. Used t'be that y'earned y'r keep through hard work, not by gettin' 'radiated 'r mutated 'r turned into a robot 'r gettin' money 'n advertisin' deals beatin' up folks." He spit on the floor. "Buncha hippies with their GEDs and their free love and spandex. Ton o' money goin' into big colleges with fancy 'puters 'n football teams, but th' only way you can get a meal in this town is by robbin' somethin', gettin' 'rrest'd and eatin' in jail next t' th' mad sci'ntist 'n Doomdark th' Scourge of Worlds. Prob'ly not even a city 'nymore, just an 'sylum t'keep all the superfolk outta th' hair o' th' rest o' th' world..."

"While there may be some truth in what you say," Ex- began, "the the veracity of your words is tempered somewhat by your, ah..."

Jack held up a hand. "I got this one, dude, you can hold off on the big words." Then, turning to the vagrant he said, "you're a crazy hobo."

The vagrant glowered. "Ain't crazy. Jus' gotta space squid in m' head."

The tunnel ahead of them dipped downward suddenly and Shank came into view, pressed up against the wall as he peeked through an open doorway. Upon noticing the trio he hissed, "get to the side!" as he gestured towards the wall.

"Is something wrong?" Ex asked, approaching the doorway in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the problem.

"YES something's wrong. There's a Void Hunter-" Shank grabbed the back of Ex's armor, yanking him aside. "...there's a Void Hunter out there."

Jack shrugged. "So?"

" _So_ he's got a space gun."

"So you go all Bruce Lee on those guys back there but you're scared of some dude with a space gun?"

"A space gun that hurts like hell when it hits you, yes."

"Pfft." Jack "pfft"ed. "You're a total puss."

"I am _not_ a puss. I... just have a highly developed sense of self-preservation."

"Psch, whatever. I could totally bum rush the guy."

"Okay. Go ahead."

Jack cracked his knuckles and, with a hearty and inspiring battle cry, charged through the doorway. Shortly thereafter came a series of sounds akin to a one-dimensional guitar string being plucked in a quantum echo chamber, and the battle cry rapidly turned to "OW FUCK FUCK FUCK GOD DAMN IT FUCK SHIT OW OW" as he ran back through the doorway and dived for cover. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

"Hurts like hell, doesn't it?"

"Yes!" Jack snapped back.

"So who was right?"

"What?"

"Who was right?" Shank sing-songed.

"...you were."

Shank nodded, satisfied. "That's right."

"But," Ex- began, "we _are_ still pinned down."

Saying nothing, the vagrant scanned the rough stone floor before scooping up a fist-sized rock. Gesturing for Shank to move away from the door - which Shank obligingly did - he leaned out from cover and whipped the rock at the Void, catching him square in the forehead and knocking him out cold. Jack and Ex- peeked out the open doorway at the unconscious soldier, looked at each other, then turned to Shank.

"Oh, weeeeeelllllll," Shank said, crossing his arms. "Why don't we just hire him _right now_ for his incredible skills in fighting crime by hitting people with rocks?"

"He would work well with the CEO, then," Ex- replied, the scarf concealing what would be a knowing smile were it not for his lack of a jaw with which to smile.

"...shut up."

* * *

"You sure this is the right way, dude?"

Shank shrugged as he pushed a button on a nearby keypad. "Considering that we were unconscious when we came in..." The door in front of him let out a series of clicks. "...no."

The door slid open with a low hiss, revealing the room beyond: The walls on either side were lined with huge glass tubes filled with a pale blue-green liquid, all of which were connected via thick cables to nearby computer consoles. Several tables covered with devices of unknown purpose and origin were set up near the back of the room, and beyond them were large pieces of corkboard covered in anatomical charts and complex formulas. Standing above it all on a metal catwalk was an imposing-looking man, clad in the distinctive grey uniforms of a Vortex Archon. "So," he intoned, leaning forward. "You've finally come."

Shank arched an eyebrow. "I take that back."

"This isn't some petty purse-snatching case you've wandered into, heroes. The depth and breadth of my plans are far beyond anything you could conceive."

"Is he going to tell us what his plans are?" Ex- asked. Shank and Jack nodded. "That seems to be a popular activity for these sorts of people."

He began pacing the catwalk, oblivious to their exchange. "Ten years - TEN YEARS I agonized over this, searching for a way to create the ultimate soldier without the trials and testing of super-soldier serum, the time-consuming transformation processes of the vampyr and the exorbitance costs of cybernetics. Oh, how my peers scorned me; Vandal himself said it was a fool's errand. But their small-mindedness only served to motivate me further. Then... _they_ came."

There was a short silence before Shank glanced at Jack and, noting his lack of reactions, asked the Archon, "who are 'they?'" Turning to Jack he added, sotto voce, "sometimes you need to play dumb to get them talking. I think the super-soldier serum makes them a little, uh..." He twirled a finger near the side of his head. Jack mouthed an "oh" and nodded.

"The Nictus!" He exclaimed, still not paying attention to their asides. "The Nictus and the Kheldians were the missing pieces to my plan. Ancient symbiotes from beyond the stars, accumulating untold power and wisdom! The Galaxy Band was a start, but their powers are naught compared to what could be."

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so Ex- cut in with, "so you are running experiments on Kheldian hosts, then?"

"Oh, you should only pray that it were that simple. The Galaxy soldiers and Void Hunters have mere Nictus fragments implanted in them. Requiem himself is rumored to have a Nictus bound to him, and his power far surpasses those of any hero. While significantly weaker, the self-proclaimed 'Peacebringers' are still a force to be reckoned with. But the limiting factor in all of these scenarios was a single symbiotic being and a single host. This is a problem I have struggled to rectify." He spread his arms. "Imagine! A soldier imbued with both Kheldian and Nictus, able to shift between the two at will! Their power would be exponentially stronger, capable of-"

"Oh, like Ikaruga," Jack said off-handedly.

The Archon stopped, staring down at him. "...Ikawhat?"

"Ikaruga. It's one of those ship flying games," he began, gesturing, "you know, like in the arcades where you're on the bottom and all this shit is coming at you from the top? But you can change from black to white and hit shit with lasers in it. They're totally queer, but this one dude keeps tyin' up the Gamecube all the time playin' it."

Shank gave him a look. "The hell do you care about the Gamecube? I thought frat boys played Halo all the time."

"Excuse me, but I am the Supreme Soul Calibur Overlord of Lambda Sigma Rho."

"A... a game?" The Archon looked down at his trembling hands. "My life's work..."

"Yeah?" Shank shot back, oblivious to the Council member's impending breakdown. "With who?"

"Link."

"Link?! You scrub!"

"Ten years..." he mumbled, sinking to his knees, "only to be outdone by a mere child's plaything...?"

Jack waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever."

"Don't 'whatever' me. I'd kick your ass with Yunsung."

"I do not believe," Ex- interjected, "that this is the time for such a conversation."

"I refuse..." Rising to his feet, he bellowed, "I REFUSE!! I WILL _NOT_ STAND BY AND BE OUTDONE BY A _TOY!_ " He reached into his pocket, producing a silver cylinder with a red button on the end. "If my dream must die..." he hissed, pressing the button with a gesture of finality, "then you will all die with it!"

Another, more urgent-sounding alarm began to sound out as the cavernous base began shaking, rocks breaking free from the roof and smashing down onto the equipment. As he backed through the doorway Jack exclaimed, "dude, he just flipped the fuck OUT."

Shank gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah, like I said, crazy. Come on, this place is probably going to collapse any minute."

* * *

The front door exploded in a shower of splinters as the trio of vigilantes burst through it, landing outside mere moments before the building's walls buckled and imploded, causing the entire structure to collapse into a hollow, brick-filled pit. Looking over the smoking ruins of the Council's hidden base, Shank said simply, "what a drama queen."

"I'm not quite certain as to why Jack's words made him so agitated," Ex- said, "but at the very least we put a stop to his plans."

"Yeah, usually we need to run back and forth across the city a half-dozen times before doing things like that, so I'd say today was pretty productive." Musing to himself Shank added, "kind of a waste, though the super-soldier serum _does_ interfere with most immunosuppressants... Vahz probably could have done something with them, but I'm not about to-" Noting Ex-'s expression, he waved him off. "Business talk; you wouldn't understand."

"Biz'ness?" the vagrant growled. "Fig'res. Buncha rich heroes just savin' folks 'n thinkin' it solves all o' th' world's probl'ms. Meanwhile all o' th' poor folks're gettin' turned 'nto aliens."

"Dude." Jack gestured to himself. "I gotcha covered. You can just stay at the frat house. No big deal."

"Frat house with a buncha kids an-" The vagrant let out a pained grunt and doubled over, tendrils of dark purple energy swarming over his body before pulsing outward in an inky blast, leaving behind a indigo-hued, flying, mandibled, tentacle-laden gestalt. The vagrant-turned-alien only had time to shout "DAMN YOU, SPACE SQUID!!" before taking off, the creature swimming through the air and into the distance.

As they watched him fly out of sight Shank "huh"ed and said, "at least you don't need to worry about taking care of him anymore, eh Jack?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Anyway, Ex- and I are heading back to the Jerk Hole. You want to come with us, grab a few beers?"

"Aw, no dude, I need to be sober for class tonight. Got a big test, you know?"

"Suit yourself," he replied, turning and walking away.

As his fellow vigilantes departed, Jack turned back towards the ruined building, thinking back to what the Archon said about Kheldians and Nictus. Most of it was pretty boring, but the one part that he did bother to remember gave him an idea. Looking deep within himself, he attempted to connect to the entity bound to his very being, an entity both foreign and familiar, separate yet a part of him. After failing miserably, he dismissed it all as hippy crap and decided to go for the direct approach. "Hey, alien energy dude."

 **I am here,** the voice echoed.

"Is it true what that guy said about you being really old and really smart?"

**Indeed. I have sailed the endless seas of the cosmos, living countless lives and acquiring knowledge untold. Your civilization's achievements are naught but a mote of light in the darkness compared to what I have learned in my travels.**

"You know anything about calculus?"

**Such simplistic methods of quantifying the workings of the Great Universal Machine are naught when compared to the wisdom I possess.**

"Cool. I think we're going to get along _real_ well."


End file.
